


Release

by s0mmerspr0ssen



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Collars, Comeplay, Consensual, Crying, Degradation, Dom/sub, F/M, Face Slapping, Gangbang, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Slurs, Subspace, Verbal Humiliation, post-STID
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 01:07:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s0mmerspr0ssen/pseuds/s0mmerspr0ssen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“They’re going to use you,” Bones says. “And I’ll allow it. They’ll take you and share you and pass you around.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Release

**Author's Note:**

> For once, this is entirely consensual BDSM, but it's still a borderline experience for Jim with lots of hazy subspace experiences and not ideal ways to deal with trauma. So as always, proceed with care or avoid reading if you know you're affected, please.
> 
> I really needed to get this thing out of my system. Hope you enjoy. ;)

It’s not the first time Bones and Jim have talked about this fantasy of Jim’s, but it’s the first time both of them are seriously considering it. Before, it had always seemed like more of an indulgence on Bones’ part. Jim knew he had neither understood nor really wanted to do it.  
  
But now, Jim has nearly died and he wakes up at night with screaming nightmares and when Bones hugs him close, Jim whispers in his ear that he died, he died again, he died and nobody helped him and he was gone and he’s a lousy captain, he can’t protect his crew.  
  
Sometimes, Bones can’t get him to settle down for hours afterwards.  
  
The Khan debacle has done a number on Jim, that much is clear. He has nearly lost the _Enterprise_ twice, died, come back and Pike -- no. Jim is still not ready to talk about Pike.  
  
Bones keeps citing his psychology degree and tells Jim that he had no sufficient time to come to terms with it, that there simply was too much trauma in the last weeks and now is the time to deal with it. That it’s not healthy to ignore what he is feeling.  
  
Jim knows all of that, but he can’t let go. He often feels restless and guilty, snaps at Bones for no reason and is on the brink of crying as soon as he’s alone. But he doesn’t give in.  
  
Hence the fantasy.  
  
Bones looks at him very seriously when Jim tentatively proposes actually doing it. But he doesn’t laugh at Jim, or looks at him angrily, or calls him a lunatic, and that’s a strong sign that he isn’t completely against the idea. He thinks there might be some merit to it, and that’s really all Jim can ask of him.  
  
Jim knows it’s not an entirely healthy outlet, but Bones has given in about the studded bullwhip, and the Orion spreader bars, and the 12-hour-bondage session in the past, so it’s not like it’s entirely unprecedented.  
  
Except that this one is much more intense. And also, most likely, impossible to accomplish.  
  
“You know I can’t guarantee they’ll go along with it,” Bones says across the table.  
  
Jim has brought it up over breakfast, because that’s apparently when you talk about inviting your core crew to what might crudely be described as a gang bang.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Bones nods, looking serious as he thinks it over. “I mean, Sulu and Chekov will jump at the idea. I don’t think they realize it, but they’re not being very subtle with the collar.”  
  
Jim smiles into his cereal. “Yeah. They’re cute, though.”  
  
Bones makes an unimpressed noise and continues: “Scotty’s probably fine with it after a drink or two. Pretty sure he’ll go along. He’s a got a soft spot for you, anyway.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jim agrees, smiling at the memories of a drunk Scotty hugging him enthusiastically to the endless amusement of Keenser. “Besides, he knows he can hide with the engines when it’s awkward afterwards.”  
  
“Uhura -- well.” Bones pauses, a crooked smile on his face. “I’m pretty sure she wanted to make you cry for years.”  
  
Jim snorts and tries not to think about Uhura in those gorgeous boots hovering above him, a riding crop in her hand. It hadn’t been an uncommon wanking fantasy back in the Academy.  
  
“The real problem is gonna be Spock,” Bones says soberly. Jim instantly loses whatever amusement he got out of the conversation.  
  
Involving Spock is … difficult. Jim can admit to himself that from nearly the very beginning, he has sought Spock’s approval. He admires him. Spock is frighteningly intelligent and can be scary as fuck, but really, he’s incredibly kind. Seeing him cry over Jim dying had been a revelation. Jim is honored to have won his friendship, which he knows is a precious gift. He wouldn’t want Spock not to respect him, to distance himself from him. If they ever went back to that state of cold glares and personal insults, Jim is sure he would have to quit Starfleet and drink himself into oblivion at the nearest bar.  
  
“You’re worried,” Bones points out quietly.  
  
“I don’t want him to think badly of me,” Jim admits and feels his ears grow hot. Spock and him, that’s something special. Somehow Bones understands and is hardly ever jealous when Jim gushes about their chess matches or Spock nearly smiling at one of his jokes.  
  
“You’re not afraid they’re _all_ going to think badly of you?”  
  
“Honestly?” Jim asks. “No. I don’t think they would. They’re family and I trust them. They might not say yes, but I don’t think they’d judge me for asking. But Spock …” Jim sighs and drops his spoon. “I don’t know if he understands these kind of-- um-- urges. It’s not even common among Humans, is it?”  
  
“He might surprise you,” Bones says, much to Jim’s bewilderment. “He might be an infuriating green-blooded bastard, but he’s very fond of you. Besides, we can accomodate him when it comes to physical contact. There’s a lot of humiliation in being used without any affectionate touch, right?”  
  
Jim nods, still surprised at Bones’ thoughts on Spock. Clearly, he has considered this before, tried to work out the logistics in his head. Bones knows Jim well by now, knows what he likes, what he doesn’t and what is totally out of the question. Jim doesn’t dare imagine what this could be like if Bones really puts his mind to the task.  
  
“So, you’re actually going to ask them?”  
  
Bones stays quiet for a while. He is scowling slightly as he chews on his nutritionally balanced breakfast sandwich. Jim has lost all interest in his multi-grain low-sugar cereal Bones insists he eat for the healthy fiber, and shoves the bowl away.  
  
“You don’t have to,” Jim reminds him after a few minutes. God, his voice is tight. “I know how you feel about sharing. You really don’t have to do this.”  
  
“I know,” Bones says, and continues chewing.  
  
Jim is almost about to get angry, or sad, or something, when Bones finally finishes his breakfast, clears his throat and announces: “Fine. I’ll talk to them. But no promises.”  
  
Jim practically jumps around the table, nearly upending his chair as he rushes to hug Bones. He grumbles and sputters as he is squeezed tightly, but Jim can tell he’s happy when Jim’s happy, and that’s something Jim doesn’t think he will ever get entirely used to. Somebody who cares enough about him that Jim’s enjoyment is their own, no matter what.  
  
Jim kisses Bones fiercely on the mouth until he is unceremoniously shoved away, because “Some people have actual work to do.”

Bones doesn’t say anything about it for two weeks afterwards. Jim knows everyone is busy while the _Enterprise_ is being repaired, squeezing in some much needed shore leave or working on an on-planet project. Bones probably has a hard time hunting them all down in addition to his own shifts at Starfleet medical and making sure Jim doesn’t have a relapse from the crude reawakening the augment blood has caused by sticking him daily with too many hypos to count.  
  
Still, it makes him jumpy, and even the two brief sessions Bones squeezes in aren’t enough to settle Jim. Besides, he’s still having nightmares every other night or so, and it’s exhausting for both of them.  
  
He almost thinks they have all declined and Bones doesn’t have the heart to tell him yet when it happens, and it happens rather quickly.  
  
It’s one of the rare days Bones doesn’t have a shift and Jim isn’t busy filing, reviewing and confirming the hundredth report on what happened with Khan and Marcus or checking requisition requests for the ship. They spend a quiet day watching a comedy holovid and snuggling on the couch like smitten teenagers, stealing soft kisses in between laughing at the film.  
  
When the movie is done, Bones calmly switches everything off, disappears into the bedroom and returns with a stack of clothes.  
  
“Get changed,” he says, and Jim instantly recognizes that tone. Very carefully, he stands and takes the clothes from Bones. When he turns towards the bathroom, Bones simply shakes his head. “Right here, Jim.”  
  
Jim swallows. For a moment, he simply looks at Bones, whose face is all serious and calm. Then, he thinks he understands. “Yes, sir.”  
  
Bones gives him the smallest of smiles, and Jim knows he’s guessed correctly.  
  
His heart is hammering as he strips. He doesn’t usually have a problem getting changed in front of people, God no, but when Bones gets like this, when they’re doing sessions, it’s suddenly so intimate. Jim feels vulnerable as he strips off the layers of fabric and stands before Bones in the nude.  
  
Bones has a way of looking at him that is both appreciative and makes Jim feel like he’s worth nothing. It’s perfect, exactly what Jim looks for when they’re doing this. He averts his gaze as he goes through the pile of clothes Bones has handed him.  
  
There is no underwear. Unwilling to mess with the order of the stack, Jim slips into the thin, grey shirt first and then grabs the non-descriptive black pants, not Starfleet issue.  
  
“Stop,” Bones says, and Jim returns the pants to the sofa with trembling hands before looking at Bones.  
  
“Sir?”  
  
With a smirk, Bones throws a small, white tube at him. Jim catches it out of instinct and looks down at it. Lubricant. He swallows and looks back up at Bones.  
  
“Bend over the sofa and prepare yourself,” he says, his voice low and amused. “Make it a show.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Jim bends over the back of the sofa, knees and thighs pressed against the backrest. His legs are spread as widely as possible, granting himself better access and Bones a better sight. His fingers are shaking with excitement and anxiety as he coats them with the sticky liquid, tries to find some sort of hold on the back of the sofa with his free hand and slips two fingers between his cheeks.  
  
It’s not like he’s never done this before, but touching himself like this in front of Bones is always intense. The fact that he’s already wearing a shirt but nothing else makes it feel even more so. It’s clear he’ll be expected to get finished dressing when Bones is satisfied he’s prepared enough. Jim has an inkling where they might go, but really, he can’t be sure. He’s at Bones’ mercy, unless he safewords out.  
  
The thought, along with the feeling of his fingers breaching the muscle and slipping inside of him, makes him moan quietly.  
  
“Don’t hold back,” Bones orders, sounding smug. “I want you to sound like the slut you are.”  
  
Jim squeezes his eyes shut as shivers of arousal run through him. Being degraded, verbally or physically, it’s what he loves the most. Bones knows him so well, it’s a blessing.  
  
Soon, he’s fucking himself with two fingers, then three, moaning and sighing as he ruts against the sofa. He’s only half-hard, but the friction is good and he’s stuffing his fingers deep inside himself, only just managing to graze the prostate every third or fourth turn.  
  
Just when he’s convinced Bones will want the full show, four fingers and no going back, Bones barks: “Stop.”  
  
Jim immediately seizes all movement and lets his fingers slip out. His hole feels loose and slick and a bit of excess lube slips down between his cheeks and towards his balls. He’s desperate for something to be inside of him, Bones’ cock or a toy or anything, but he knows it won’t happen any time soon.  
  
Footfall. Bones is stepping up to the couch, clearly to inspect Jim’s preparation.  
  
“Spread your cheeks, slut,” he says and Jim flushes as he complies, bringing his second arm to his back to pry his buttocks apart. He does feel like a slut like this. “Wider,” Bones orders and Jim barely contains a whimper as he complies.  
  
For a moment, it’s just cold air and his loose hole pulsing slightly, ready to be filled again. He has half a mind to beg Bones to fuck him, but he knows it’s not what this is about, so he doesn’t.  
  
“Good work,” Bones praises and even though there’s a derogatory note to it, Jim feels happy tingles at the words. There’s nothing like Bones’ approval. “Put on your pants.”  
  
Jim nods and scrambles off the couch, grabbing for the pants still resting beside him. The remnants of lube leave sticky imprints against the seams, but Bones doesn’t seem to care.  
  
Jim bites his lips as he pulls the pants over his crotch, his half-hard cock catching in the fabric. The friction is delicious, but Bones shakes his head in clear warning. Jim doesn’t dare touch, not even to arrange himself. There’s an awkward bulge where his cock has caught uncomfortably against the crutch of the garment, but it’s clear Bones revels in his discomfort.  
  
“You look like a cheap hooker,” he says and lets out a short, dry laugh as he makes Jim twirl once. He is terribly convincing like this. Sometimes during their sessions, Jim is sure _this_ is the real Bones, not the caring doctor that grumbles and mutters as he gently fixes all ailments.  
  
“Sorry, sir,” Jim says.  
  
“It suits you. Go grab some socks and then we’ll go.”  
  
Jim hurries to comply. When he returns, Bones is waiting by the door, already wearing shoes and his jacket. He nudges Jim’s black sneakers forward, so Jim doesn’t ask, simply sits on the floor and slips them on before accepting the simple windbreaker Bones offers him.  
  
Clearly, they’re not going anywhere fancy.  
  
They take a long walk through the Academy grounds. It’s pretty cold and windy for San Fransciso and Bones has a possessive hand around Jim’s waist. Every once in a while, he’ll pet Jim’s ass or squeezes his crotch, and Jim thinks he might be going crazy. He wishes Bones had given him a plug to wear, or some anal beads, or something. He feels slick and empty and Bones playing with him in public really, really doesn’t help. Bones is usually big about privacy, but he has a way of sneaking touches without being obvious about it and still manages to make Jim feel like a cheap whore who loves nothing more than being touched and used in public.  
  
Eventually, they end up at the transporter station. Jim knows for certain Bones has taken a giant detour to get here, but he doesn’t complain. If Bones wants to parade him around campus, he can. It’s how this works.  
  
Jim doesn’t catch which destination coordinates Bones murmurs towards the cadet manning the station today, but she salutes and expertly adjusts the controls on the panel. Bones leads Jim onto the pads and throws him a warning look before separating from him to stand on his own circle. Jim bites his lips and looks at his feet as they’re whisked away.  
  
When they materialize, Jim cannot suppress a noise of surprise. Neither the shocked exclamation of: “What in hell--”  
  
“Shut up,” Bones grouses and Jim’s mouth snaps closed immediately.  
  
His eyes, however, stay wide as he hurries after Bones, who has now adapted a quick pace as he walks down the familiar corridor. They’re on the _Enterprise_. They’re on the fucking _Enterprise_ , which is currently being repaired and refitted and not supposed to be entered unless you are engineering staff with tools in your bag and an idea of what to do.  
  
“Bones--” he tries again, and Bones stops abruptly, swivelling around.  
  
His eyes are narrowed as he hisses: “If you don’t shut up now, I will spank you right here in the hallway until you learn your damn lesson, no matter who passes by. Bit of a show for the engineering crew, Jim? The great Captain Kirk, being spanked and moaning about it like a common whore?”  
  
Jim stares at him. His cock is twitching at the enticing pictures, the humiliation in those words. He quickly shakes his head.  
  
“Sorry, sir,” he whispers.  
  
“What was that, slut?”  
  
Fighting an urge to look around to see if there’s actually any crew around, Jim straightens and says more firmly: “I’m sorry, sir.”  
  
“You better be.”  
  
And he’s off again, Jim hot on his heels. His heart is beating faster now. They’re on the _Enterprise_. Surely this would mean-- Had Bones really managed--  
  
“I can hear you thinking,” Bones says sharply and Jim tries to stop it, even though Bones has no way of knowing his thoughts.  
  
They end up at the senior officer ready room. Jim can’t hear anything, but most of the rooms on the Enterprise are soundproof, so that means nothing.  
  
Bones turns. Jim immediately notices the difference in his face. This isn’t Bones being dominant and demanding. This is Bones, Jim’s partner, the caring doctor.  
  
“Safeword?” he asks tightly.  
  
“Shore leave.” This is not something he forgets.  
  
“And if you only want to slow down?”  
  
“Red.”  
  
Bones nods. He raises a hand to Jim’s face, cups half of his face. “They all know, and they’ve all been instructed how they work. Still, I’ll be there the whole time, so if you’re feeling unsafe or something is not right, I’ll make sure they’ll slow down or back off. If they don’t react fast enough, I’ll intervene. Okay?”  
  
“Okay.” Jim’s mouth is getting dry.  
  
Bones hesitates, then: “You’re absolutely sure you want this?”  
  
Jim throws a glance at the ready room door. This is happening. Bones has really done it. He’s assembled Jim’s core crew to fulfill one of Jim’s ultimate fantasies.  
  
He swallows. “What if I say no?”  
  
Bones smiles, gently and entirely non-judgmental. “Then we will all forget about it and I’ll call it off, take you home and fuck you over the nearest available surface.”  
  
Jim surprises himself with a genuine laugh and some of the tightness in his chest eases. He’s in control, Bones even more so. If it’s too much, they can stop. Bones will look out for him. He’ll be fine and he’ll feel better after this.  
  
“I’m sure,” he says. “I want to do it.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
In the blink of an eye, Bones is back to wearing a smug smile. He looks up and down Jim’s frame, staring at him.  
  
“You really do look like a slut,” he says with an air of satisfaction and Jim averts his gaze again. “Ah, don’t pretend to be ashamed. You love it, don’t you?”  
  
Jim keeps staring at the floor.  
  
“I said, you love it, don’t you?”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Jim murmurs vaguely to the ground.  
  
A harsh hand grabs his hair and forces his head backwards. Jim ends up staring right up into Bones’ face. His eyes are blazing when he hisses: “You will answer me properly.”  
  
Jim nods as far as possible and repeats clearly: “Yes, sir. I love it.”  
  
“Say it. Say you’re a slut.”  
  
“I’m a slut.”  
  
“Again.”  
  
“I’m a slut.”  
  
“Louder.”  
  
“I’m a slut.” Jim’s voice breaks halfway through, but Bones looks pleased.  
  
“Exactly.” He tugs harshly at Jim’s hair, then lets it go. Jim stumbles a bit before finding his stance again. “You’re a slut. Always begging to be fucked, to be used. James Tiberius Kirk, everyone gets a ride. How many of your fellow cadets had a go at you, hm? Dozens? Hundreds even?”  
  
Jim swallows. There’s always a fine line between feeling merely deliciously humiliated and hurt on a personal level, and Bones walks it perfectly.  
  
“I don’t know, sir,” he says in all honesty and Bones laughs at him.  
  
In that moment, Jim does feel like a slut. It’s true he doesn’t remember half of the names of the people he slept with and while he’s not usually ashamed, it’s a tool Bones uses expertly in these kinds of sessions.  
  
“Of course you don’t,” he drawls and pushes Jim against the wall next to the door. A hard hand presses into Jim’s crotch and he whimpers as his semi-hard dick is caught between rough fabric and Bones’ strong fingers. “You have quite a reputation, you know?”  
  
Jim swallows, trying to focus on Bones’ words and not on the hand squeezing his cock through his pants. “Sir?”  
  
“Everyone knows you’ll fuck pretty much anything that’s willing,” Bones continues with a dirty grin. “And they wonder why you were made captain, you know? Why you get to lead the flagship, fresh out of the Academy. You know what they say, _Captain_?”  
  
Bones manages to make his rank sound like a dirty insult. Slowly, Jim loses his grasp on this being make-belief. Bones is too good, too perfect at twisting truths to fit Jim’s fantasies. A few more minutes of this, and Jim will believe that this is what Bones and the other actually think, no doubt about it.  
  
“No, sir,” he whispers shakily, involuntarily bucking into the hand still curled into his crotch.  
  
“They say you slept your way to the captain’s seat. That you sucked every cock and licked every pussy until they gave it to you. That you spend your shore leaves repaying favors, fucking most of the brass until you’re so sore you can’t move.”  
  
Jim feels tears prickle in his eyes. Deep down, he knows this isn’t true, that people do not think this, that he’s proven himself. But right here, with Bones smirking into his face and crushing his cock and pressing him into the wall, he starts to believe it. He’s a slut and he doesn’t deserve to be captain and people know it. Talk about him like he’s scum.  
  
Maybe he is. Jim lets out a harsh breath that sounds like a sob. Bones’ smirk turns truly vicious.  
  
“Ah,” he says and leans close until his mouth is right by Jim’s ear. His voice is a snide whisper, devoid of anything but malice. “Here’s what’s going to happen, _Captain_. Your crew’s had enough of the talk. They’re ashamed to be working under a slut like you. They’ve seen you fail your responsibilities again and again. They don’t respect you, and they don’t like you, but they realize there’s at least one merit to you. One merit they haven’t benefitted from as of yet.”  
  
Jim holds his breath, eyes wide and moist as he stares past Bones and into the empty hallway beyond.  
  
“They’re going to use you,” Bones says. “And I’ll allow it. They’ll take you and share you and pass you around. They’ll make you their slut, and they’ll love it, and you better love it, too. If I see that you’re not pleasing them or don’t know your place, you will not like the consequences.”  
  
Jim whimpers and Bones bites his ear harshly before he leans back, staring right into Jim’s face. “Is that understood, slut?” he asks.  
  
Knowing his voice sounds pathetic and weak, he nonetheless presses out: “Yes, sir.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
At once, Bones releases him, crotch and all, and Jim starts slipping down the wall before he catches himself.  
  
“Oh, you’ll be on your knees soon enough,” Bones jibes and turns towards the door.  
  
He punches in an access code and Jim’s too far gone to understand that the door is usually open, that this is one of Bones’ measures to assure that no wayward engineer ends up interrupting them. Jim has long ceased worrying that Bones might be unsafe. He’s the most responsible partner Jim has ever had for sessions like this.  
  
When the door slides open, Bones grabs him by his neck and pushes him forcefully into the room. Jim stumbles forward, momentarily blinded by the brighter light in the ready room. When his eyes finally adjust and he comes to stand, he can only look around once before he has to avert his eyes towards the floor.  
  
They’re all there. Chekov and Sulu on the couch to the left, with Chekov curled up on Sulu’s lap like some sort of prized pet, collar in place. Scotty on his own in an armchair in the middle of the arrangement, a glass of Scotch in his hand and legs spread like he owns the room and everyone in it. Uhura and Spock to the right, with Uhura lounging on the sofa and her long legs placed elegantly in Spock’s lap. Spock sits straight and poised as always, but one of his hands rests affectionately on Uhura’s thigh. All their gazes are on him and it’s just too much to bare.  
  
Jim knows he’s trembling when he comes to stand before them, eyes turning down to fix on his sneakers. They’re all in uniform, like this is an official meeting, Starfleet approval granted. Maybe it is. Maybe people truly think he’s not worth a captaincy, that he’s to be taught a lesson and shown his place.  
  
He hears Bones step up behind him, the door sliding shut with a blip that tells everyone that the door is locked for now. “My my, Jim, going shy already?”  
  
Jim doesn’t dare move or look up. He feels like he’s glued to his spot, unable to do anything other than tremble before his core crew arranged artfully in the ready room, looking gorgeous and strong and successful, just like they belong on the Starfleet flagship.  
  
Not like Jim, who can’t even get the ship home in one piece or protect his crew. He’s all failure where they are talent and competence and supremacy.  
  
“He’s still convinced this isn’t happening,” Bones announces to the room as he comes to stand next to Jim. “He was too busy sobbing and trying to fuck my hand in the hallway.”  
  
Jim swallows audibly. A wave of shame overcomes him, increasing his trembles. He feels his hands curl into loose, useless fists by his side. He’s helpless and useless and degraded.  
  
It gets worse when Bones turns him sideways, once more curls a hand into Jim’s hair and forces him to look up. Jim immediately averts his eyes, unwilling to look at anyone in the room.  
  
Bones backhands him once, harshly, loosening his grip just enough to let Jim’s head snap to the side. “You will look at them or me at any given moment. There’ll be no hiding. You’ll face up to what will happen and you’ll accept it. Is that clear?”  
  
Jim chooses to look at Bones because that’s less daring than looking at Scotty, or Sulu, or God forbid, Spock. “Yes, sir,” he whispers.  
  
Bones backhands him again. It stings and for a moment, Jim feels slightly woozy and his eyes go unfocused. “We can’t hear you,” Bones prompts, looking right into his eyes.  
  
Blinking, Jim collects his thoughts. There’s no way he’s getting out of this. Bones won’t let him go. This will happen just as they want it to.  
  
“Yes, sir,” he says and it comes out somewhat more steady.  
  
It feels different immediately. None of his crew have ever heard Jim call Bones anything other than his name or nickname, very seldomly his rank or degree. _Sir_ \-- it really drives home that Jim is not their captain. That he’s nothing, a thing to be passed around and played with.  
  
“Now, look at them. Really look.” Bones turns his head and Jim faces his crew, feeling Bones’ hand slip off.  
  
Scotty looks uncommonly serious with his hand around his glass. There’s not even a smirk on his face as he stares right back, taking Jim in like he’s an equation simply unwilling to be solved. This side of Scotty is unnerving, and Jim turns his gaze to the left to meet Sulu’s eyes.  
  
Sulu has none of Scotty’s severity. He’s smirking openly at Jim, letting his eyes trail up and down Jim’s frame in a very dirty sort of appreciation. His hand is resting firmly on Chekov’s head, petting and stroking the curls in practiced movements.  
  
The Russian is curled up on Sulu’s lap, their legs tangled and Chekov’s head resting on Sulu’s shoulder. He’s wearing the black collar people have had the decency not to comment on on the bridge and he’s clearly enjoying Sulu’s attentions. His gaze, if anything, is curious as he looks at Jim through partly closed eyes.  
  
Unnerved at the sheer affection the pair is radiating, Jim slowly, very slowly turns his eyes on Uhura and Spock.  
  
Uhura smiles like the Cheshire cat, all teeth and wickedness. Her eyes are intense, lined perfectly by her flawless makeup, and with one look, she makes Jim feel like this is her dream come true, Jim being commandeered and degraded right in front of her. As their eyes meet, she raises a hand, tilting her head until it rest on the tips of her fingers. For all Jim knows, she’s contemplating how to best use and humiliate him, and there’s no way Jim can hold her gaze any longer.  
  
Spock gives nothing away, as always. He has the same look on his face he uses for filling out paperwork and rattling off endless coordinates and numbers on the bridge. For some reason, the fact that Spock looks no different makes it worse. At the very least, the others are affected in some way. Spock seems unimpressed, bored almost.  
  
Jim cannot look away.  
  
“Ah,” Bones says knowingly. “Of course, we all know you’ve wanted to fuck Spock the minute you laid your eyes on him.”  
  
Jim knows this is his cue to look back at Bones, but he can’t. He’s caught in Spock’s dark eyes, so expressionless even in the face of Bones’ words.  
  
“It’s pitiful, really, the way you’ve been looking at him on the bridge. Practically begging to be pushed over the nearest surface and fucked until you’re an incoherent mess.” Bones laughs. “He wouldn’t even consider you, though. Too much Vulcan pride. I doubt he’d touch a slut like you with a stick.”  
  
Jim bites his lip and finally breaks his gaze on Spock. He’s shaking badly as he returns his eyes to Bones. He knows he’s breathing harshly through his nose. He feels like whimpering, or crying, or falling to his knees and begging Bones to stop.  
  
They are all here, and they’re watching, and it’s clear they expect to use him, to degrade him, and it’s too much, it’s too much. He can’t do this. They clearly hate him, despise him, are disgusted by him. Jim’s sure he’ll have a breakdown as soon as anyone comes near him.  
  
There’s a faint tingling noise in his left ear and cold sweat is gathering on his back. For a moment, Jim actually feels like he’s passing out. He startles when Bones hand curls around the back of his neck, warm and firm.  
  
“You know they’re all busy people,” Bones says, his voice intense in a way it hadn’t been before. “They’ve all taken time out of their projects and _shore leave_ to teach you a lesson. You should be grateful.”  
  
And Jim feels like he can breathe again. _Shore leave_. Right. Right. He nods, almost frantically, willing Bones to understand that he got it, he’s fine.  
  
“Such an embarrassed little slut,” Bones continues. “Looking a bit _red_ in the face.” God, but Bones is perfect. Perfect. Jim gathers his thoughts and the ringing in his ears slowly disappears. “Are you ashamed? Pretending to be all virtuous? We all know better, Jim. Don’t bother.”  
  
The hand on his neck disappears. “Strip.”  
  
Jim stiffens on the spot, his eyes still focused on Bones. He knew this would happen eventually, but still. He’s suddenly aware of the slickness between his buttocks, the way Bones made him prepare himself for this.  
  
How will they take them? Will there be punishment for his past actions? Will he be asked to beg, degrade himself for their amusement?  
  
“Have you gone deaf?” Bones says, and now he’s outright angry. His eyes are narrowed, his mouth twisted in disapproval. “Clearly you need a lesson in how this will go.” Bones leans close and hisses right into his face: “You’ll look right at Spock as you strip. And you’ll make it a show. You’ll undress slowly, eyes on him. Is that clear?”  
  
Jim wants to run and never return, but he says “Yes, sir,” and turns towards Spock.  
  
It’s cruel, the way Spock takes in every single one of his movements. Jim slips off his shoes and socks with his feet and toes. What Spock must think of him now. Not only a weak little Human, but a depraved one. A slut. Jim is so ashamed his eyes are watering as he slowly takes off the coat and shirt, dropping it onto the floor. His hands falter as he goes for his fly button, but Bones is a hot, warning presence behind his back and there’s no way he’s getting out of this.  
  
So he stares into Spock’s eyes as he pops open the button and unzips his pants. Finally, Spock seems to radiate something other than indifference, but it’s most likely disgust and disapproval, and Jim bites his lips as he pulls down his pants and reveals the hard cock underneath.  
  
Spock must think he’s worthless to be turned on from this. Spock must regret every single time he accepted Jim’s authority on the ship. Spock must be disgusted at the very thought of going anywhere near him.  
  
Jim’s shaking badly when he finishes, feeling every single bit like the worthless slut Bones has told him repeatedly he is.  
  
“Good boy,” Bones says, anger vanishing and making space for an air of satisfaction. “On your knees, now.”  
  
Jim’s almost grateful for the command. His legs are so shaky it’s a relief to slump onto the floor with a low thump.  
  
“You’ll do just as you’re told,” Bones says sharply and Jim finally has an excuse to look away from Spock. It’s enough to suppress the tears threatening to spill over his flushed cheeks. “If you’re not doing your best, I’ll know. You will not like the consequences.”  
  
Jim nods, too intimidated to speak. Bones lets it slide.  
  
“Ladies first,” he says and Jim turns his eyes on Uhura.  
  
She looks gorgeous and so, so dangerous as she lifts her legs off Spock’s lap, placing them on the floor. Her boots fit perfectly as always, stunning with the short uniform style she favors. There’s enough space on the couch for her to spread her legs and even from his position by Bones’ side, Jim can tell she’s not wearing underwear.  
  
“Come here, then,” she orders, and she’s so self-assured, so convinced that Jim will do as he’s told, there’s not an ounce of doubt in Jim’s mind that he will do exactly as she wishes. “I’ll have your mouth before it’s filthy from overuse.”  
  
Jim does not have to ask how Bones or Uhura want him. Eyes on her, Jim crawls over the floor and towards the sofa on the right, right past Spock’s shiny boots.  
  
Uhura’s entirely void of self-consciousness as she lets her skirt slip upwards to reveal her upper thighs, granting Jim ample access.  
  
“This better be good,” she says as she grabs hold of Jim’s hair, harshly tugging him close. “I expect a lot, what with all the practice you’ve gotten.”  
  
Jim’s mind goes blissfully blank as he settles between her legs. Any worry simply leaves. This is his job now, his duty. He’ll do as he’s told, please them, satisfy their needs. It’s all he’s good for, isn’t it?  
  
He uses his thumbs to fold away the outer labia, revealing the moist folds beneath. It’s clear she’s been getting off on Jim being pushed and slapped around. Her smell fills Jim’s nose as he slowly uncurls his tongue and laps at her, tasting the liquid clinging to her skin.  
  
She’s delicious, sweet and sticky, all the good things Jim misses sometimes when he’s with Bones. Maybe that makes him even more of a slut, not being satisfied by one set of genitals, being fucked into the mouth by a dick and craving cunt instead. He tries his best to lick broad, firm strokes, teasing her clit and slipping inside her hole in turns. Soon, she is squirming above him, letting out small, pleased moans as Jim licks and laps at her.  
  
“God,” she moans. “You _are_ good at this. I guess everyone’s got a special talent.” Her hand tightens in his hair, fingernails digging sharply into his scalp. Jim speeds up his strokes, one thumb moving downwards and into her hole as he tickles and teases her clit.  
  
It takes more than a few minutes, but when she comes, it’s quick and violent. Her sticky release clings to Jim’s face as he’s pressed mercilessly into it. She rides his face, seeking friction as she finds her release. He does his best to lick at it, swallow it, and when he’s finally let go, he’s still licking his lips clean as he stares up at her.  
  
Her face is relaxed as she looks at him, satisfied and smiling. “What a good little slut you are,” she says, and scratches a sharp fingernail down his left cheek. “Say thank you.”  
  
“Thank you,” he breathes, still tasting her in his mouth, and she laughs, a sound both pretty and depraved.  
  
“God, you’re disgusting. Now shoo, Sulu has plans for you.”  
  
Jim no longer looks to Bones for confirmation. He’s sure he doesn’t care who he pleases next. It’s no matter, because they’ll all get their turn eventually. Maybe several ones. Endless rounds of being taken and used and told to suck and lick and swallow.  
  
He crawls past Scotty and towards Sulu. Chekov is still on Sulu’s lap, but at some point, he’s lost his uniform. He’s as naked as Jim, but where Jim feels exposed, vulnerable, ready to be touched and prodded at his crew’s whim, Chekov just looks luxurious. He belongs to one master, who's so clearly pleased with him. There’s a fondness in Sulu’s eyes Jim craves, but is not the receiver of. When Sulu looks at him, it’s with another cold smirk.  
  
“Since your mouth’s been broken in already,” he said. “I think I’ll have you continue using it.”  
  
He whispers something into Chekov’s ear, who nods eagerly and wiggles off Sulu’s lap, placing himself next to him on his knees, rear end towards Jim.  
  
Jim understands before Sulu gives the command: “Prepare him. Get him wet and loose for me.”  
  
There’s something severely wrong with how willingly he goes along with this, Jim thinks as he grabs a hold of Chekov’s ass. His buttocks are firm and when he pries them apart, his hole is smooth and tight. He looks like a good little pet, always clean and ready for his master. Unlike Jim, he’s not to be shared and passed around. He’s cherished and used by Sulu alone.  
  
Jim’s not even sure Bones wants to use him anymore when he’s done with his crew. Bones has never liked to share.  
  
He licks over Chekov’s hole first, twice, thrice, getting it wet before pointing his tongue and slowly, carefully breaching the muscle. Chekov moans and whines above him as he presses inside, carefully lapping into the hole until he relaxes. Soon, Jim can fuck Chekov with his tongue and he makes sure to use as much saliva as possible, getting him slick and ready.  
  
Chekov is not like Jim. He deserves to be made feel good. Sulu thinks so, too, that much is clear. Finally, when both Jim’s face and Chekov’s hole are glistening with spit, he is told to lay off.  
  
Jim feels almost pleasantly numb as he watches Chekov climb back onto Sulu’s lap and slip right onto Sulu’s cock, already hard and poking through Sulu’s opened pants. Chekov takes his time fucking himself on Sulu, moaning shamelessly as he rolls his hips and pleases them both. Sulu’s hand is on his collar, which should be a reminder to Jim’s own position, but there’s something so loving about it that Jim can’t look away. Sulu loves and cherishes Chekov. He merely uses Jim for his amusement.  
  
When Sulu spills, it’s with a moan so loud and satisfied that Jim feels his own cock leak pre-cum onto his thigh. He hasn’t even bothered asking Bones if he can touch himself. He knows what the answer will be.  
  
When Chekov slips off Sulu’s lap, he doesn’t collapse next to him. Instead, he returns to the position Jim has prepared him in.  
  
Jim’s chin is grabbed harshly by Sulu’s fingers a moment later. They curl painfully into his face as he bows down and hisses: “Lick him clean. Make him come.”  
  
There’s a buzz in his ears when Jim licks the come out of Chekov’s hole. It’s gooey and sticky and the whole thing is simply degrading, but Jim does not once lose his hard-on. He’s a slut. He really is. Nobody else would get off on licking other people’s come from a sticky hole like he is.  
  
He gets every little trace of come and when he’s done, he goes back to tongue-fucking Chekov’s hole until he cries out and it’s clear he’s found his own climax.  
  
Sulu immediately gathers his pet close, showering him with kisses and Jim knows he’s done here. No longer of use.  
  
“My turn now, lad,” comes Scotty’s voice. There’s a note of steel to it Jim has never heard from him before, and he hurries to crawl over to him. He’s uncertain what Scotty wants, but the man downs the rest of his Scotch in one go and stands.  
  
His cock, Jim notices, is already out and hard. Clearly, he’s been enjoying the show, touched himself as he watched.  
  
“Yer mouth’s all filthy now,” Scotty says. “So -- bend over the chair.”  
  
He’ll fuck him, Jim realizes faintly. Stiff like a robot, he drapes himself over the chair. Nothing matters anymore. Scotty can fuck him for hours if he wants. Use one of his tools from engineering once he’s done. It doesn’t matter. Jim’s floating.  
  
Scotty breaches him immediately. He says something degrading about Jim being prepared already, about him walking around campus filled with cum, and Jim just whispers “Yes, sir”, “Thank you, sir,” over and over again as he’s fucked hard into the armchair. When Scotty comes, Jim feels loose and warm and like crying, but it’s kind of wonderful.  
  
He’s so worthless. All he’s good for is this, being used for entertainment, for pleasure. How could he ever think he was born to be a captain, capable of taking care of a ship and a crew? Clearly, this is his sole purpose in life.  
  
As Scotty slips out of him and smacks Jim’s ass to tell him to move, Jim’s just lucid enough to slip from the chair and crawl towards Spock.  
  
When he looks up at the Vulcan, he’s resigned to the shame welling up in him. There’s no point in hiding now. Spock has seen him do unspeakable things, has seen him lick and swallow and get fucked. There’s no respect left between them, and Jim will have to accept that.  
  
There’s moisture gathering in his eyes, but this time he finds no resolve to fight the tears. When Spock speaks, they slip freely down his cheeks.  
  
“You are a disgrace to the captain’s chair,” he says, his voice void of all emotion. “But you do have your uses, that much has become clear.”  
  
It feels unreal when Spock methodically unbuttons his pants and reveals his cock, flushed green. He looks so alien and aloft at this moment, Jim only blinks up at him, crying, covered in God knows what, sticky and smelly and used. “Open you mouth.”  
  
Spock jacks off quickly, efficently and comes all over Jim’s face. Tears mingle with come as Jim tastes Spock on his tongue. It’s different than a Human’s, he thinks absently. Almost tart.  
  
“Expressing gratitude is an appropriate response, I believe,” Spock says, and only a sheen of green on his cheeks speaks of his being affected at all.  
  
Jim swallows, then repeats “Thank you, sir” three times, or four, until a firm hand settles on his shoulder.  
  
It’s probably Bones, but Jim’s not sure. He feels light-headed, like he’s floating. If Bones want to use him too, Jim’s not sure he’ll be aware of it. He can do whatever he likes. Jim’s a worthless toy to be used, is he not?  
  
When a hand curls around his dick, he comes instantly, but it doesn’t feel like an urgent release, more like an afterthought.  
  
He’s only half-aware of Bones’ murmured reassurances or the set of arms that lift him onto the nearest sofa with alien strength. There’s soft, moist cloth rubbing over his skin, and more than one set of warm hands stroking his hair, and lots of words, but Jim’s tired and woozy.  
  
“Thanks,” he says again to no one in particular, for nothing in particular. It’s just good to feel nothing, and cry. He knows he’s still crying, at least.  
  
He comes to himself wrapped in Bones’ arms. They’re still in the ready room, but the lights have been lowered and it’s quiet. Jim blinks, looking around. They’re all still here, talking quietly among each other. There’s a game of chess set up between Uhura and Spock, and their fingers keep touching as they play. It’s clear they’ve cleaned up, changed clothes. They’re wearing civvies now, plain and comfortable clothes as they relax in each other’s company.  
  
Jim’s still nude himself, but he’s too exhausted to care. His eyes feel puffy. He doesn’t even know how long he’s cried, but it had to be a while. He feels utterly drained, like he's been up for hours or running a marathon.  
  
“Hey there,” Bones says and Jim blinks up at him. Bones looks worried. “You okay? You went far away there in the end.”  
  
Jim nods. “‘m fine. But you didn’t use me,” he says tiredly.  
  
“Not today,” Bones replies, gently petting his back. “Had to keep an eye on you, didn’t I?”  
  
He helps Jim sit up and Jim realizes he’s been wrapped into a soft blanket. If he were less exhausted, this would be the point to freak out over what they’ve done, what Bones managed to organize for Jim. But Jim’s doesn’t panic, only smiles when his crew ceases their talks and activities and comes to gather around the sofa.  
  
“How are you feeling?” Uhura asks, and now her smile’s soft and warm, nothing judgemental or cruel about it.  
  
“Tired,” Jim replies honestly. “Good.”  
  
It’s easier to look at Spock than he’d have thought. Spock’s eyebrows are drawn together in an obvious display of worry. Jim sees his fingers twitch by his side before they are pulled behind his back.  
  
“You can do your meld thing,” Jim tells him sleepily. “I don’t mind.”  
  
“You’re sure?” Bones asks immediately, but doesn’t outright protest. “You’re pretty beat.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jim says. “I think he needs it.”  
  
Spock nods, but only raises his hand to Jim’s face after another reaffirming look for Bones. His fingers settle gently against Jim’s psi points. It’s not a full meld, more of a cursory glance where telepathy is concerned, but when Spock draws back, he’s visibly more relaxed. Clearly, he’s convinced now that Jim hasn’t suffered some sort of terrible trauma from this.  
  
“Can’t believe you went along with this,” Jim says, because apparently he can’t keep his mouth shut when he’s been fucked two hundred miles into subspace.  
  
“Dr. McCoy proposed a logical argument,” Spock replies stiffly, clearly flustered, and Jim actually laughs.  
  
“Bones and logic?” he asks amused, and Bones scowls.  
  
“Shush. You know how much work this was? The STD tests alone took me hours, I’ll have you know.”  
  
Jim smiles and curls back against Bones’ chest. Bones grumbles some more about preparation and finding a suitable time for everyone, but he slips two firm arms around him anyway.  
  
“Thanks for this,” Jim says as he closes his eyes.  
  
“Any time, kid,” Bones returns and places a kiss on Jim’s forehead.  
  
Later, after a little nap on Bones’ lap, Jim will get dressed and cuddle with Scotty, because he looks like he needs it, like he’s shaken at how badly he’s treated Jim, and then he’ll talk to Chekov about his fantasies and laugh with Sulu after receiving a grateful little kiss on the cheek, and it’s only going to be a tiny bit awkward and mostly okay.  
  
They’ll be fine. And Jim’ll be fine, too. He’s not delusional enough to think he’s over what happened with Khan, over the nightmares or the guilt, but it helped.  
  
It’s a start.


End file.
